Bloody Mary and Bloody Wrists
by suicidalunicorn97
Summary: Supernatural fic based off Season 1 episode 5. Sam and Dean take on Bloody Mary. Sam is suicidal after losing Jess. Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts and self harm.
1. Chapter 1

**This is based off Season 1, episode 5: Bloody Mary. I just started re-watching Supernatural, and decided to write this. Trigger warning for Self-harm and Suicidal thoughts. Sorry guys, I know all my stories are basically the same haha.**

* * *

 _"Jess..._ "

Dean looked over at his younger brother sleeping on the motel bed, concerned. Another nightmare. The poor kid hadn't gotten a good night's sleep since Jessica had died. Sammy refused to talk about it. He insisted that he was fine. But Dean knew better. Sam wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, and the most concerning thing; he was just...different. Dean had always been the reckless one. But now it was Sammy who was rushing into things without thinking. Putting both of them in danger.

"Hey, Sammy, wake up." Dean walked over to the bed and shook his brother's shoulders.

"Wha-?" Sam awoke with a start and looked at Dean, confused for a moment before he remembered where they were. "Oh, sorry," He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Why did you let me fall asleep?"

"Cause I'm an awesome brother," Dean tried to hide his concern with humor. "Seriously though, you were having another nightmare. At some point we're gonna have to talk about this."

"You're the one that said no chick-flick moments, jerk."

"Bitch," Dean replied, completing their inside joke.

"What do you have on Bloody Mary?" Sam asked, looking over at the motel table covered in case files.

Dean sighed with frustration. "As much as I hate to say it, I miss the internet. Going through these one-by-one is sucking my soul. But I think I found something." He reached over and grabbed a file. "Mary Worthington, murdered in her apartment in Fort Wayne, Indiana. In front of a mirror. And her eyes were cut out."

"Geez," Sam looked at the crime scene photos with disgust. "Could be our ghost, but Fort Wayne is a long way from Toledo. What would she be doing here?"

Dean shrugged. "Got me." Suddenly his phone rang. "Hello?" It was Charlee, a friend of the first victim's daughter. She was in a panic. "Hold on, I'm gonna put you on speaker. Try to calm down."

"Sam, Dean...Jill is dead," The frightened girl said between sobs.

* * *

Ten minutes later they were in front of Jill's house.

"Charlee," Dean found her on the steps, crying into her hands. She looked up when she heard his voice.

"She's dead..." Charlee whispered. "She said it. I told her not too, but she said it anyway!"

"Said what?" Sam asked.

"You know...Bloody..." She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. "She said it in front of the mirror, she was trying to make fun of me, prove it was just a joke."

"Hey, hey, we're gonna figure out what's going on here." Dean awkwardly patted her shoulder. "But we could use your help."

Later that night, Charlee let the boy's into Jill's house. They made their way up to her room, where Dean carefully removed the mirror from the wall. They shined a black light on the back, and found a name.

"Gary Bryman?" Charlee repeated the name in shock.

"You know who that is?" Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

"He...was a little boy killed in a hit-and-run last year." She said, looking guilty.

"You know who the driver was, don't you?" Sam asked her.

She looked down.

"Hey, it's okay. We're not gonna tell anyone." Dean reassured her.

"It was Jill." Charlee said quietly. "She made me swear not to tell anyone..."

This was beginning to make sense.

* * *

Within a half-hour, the brothers had broken into the Shoemaker home, and quietly removed the bathroom mirror. They shined the black light on the back, and sure enough, there was another name: Linda Shoemaker.

"The victim's wife?" Sam asked, surprised. "The police report said she overdosed on sleeping pills."

"What do you wanna bet that her husband forced those pills down her throat, eh?"

"Okay, so we have a vengeful spirit. She's killing people who were involved in accidental, or not-so-accidental deaths that were kept a secret. But that still doesn't explain how she got from Fort Wayne to Toledo, Ohio."

"Let's make a few calls."

* * *

"That's a shame, Mr. Worthington, I would've paid good money for that mirror. Thanks for your time." Sam hung up the phone. "I have our link. Mary's brother sold the mirror to a pawn shop last week. A pawn shop in Toledo."

"Bingo. Now we gotta figure out how to destroy it. My guess is that her spirit is trapped in there. Mirrors are said to be able to entrap the souls of the dead."

"Let's go to the pawn shop tonight. We'll summon her and then smash the mirror."

"Sounds too easy." Dean scoffed. "And besides, how are we gonna summon her? You got any secrets?"

Sam looked down. "Maybe."

Dean shook his head. "Alright, that's it." He pulled the car over to the side of the road."

"What are you doing?"

"This is about Jessica, isn't it? Sammy, it wasn't your fault."

"You don't know everything." His younger brother stated quietly.

"Oh yeah? Then tell me. What am I missing?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret."

"I am not using you as bait." Dean said firmly.

"Please, you have to let me do this." Sam's voice had a hint of desperation.

"Fine," Dean sighed. "But I'm not leaving you alone, got it? No suicide mission crap, okay?"

Dean was only half-joking. At this point he had no idea what Sam's mental state was, but it was far from healthy. He doubted his brother would go as far as to take his own life, but with how reckless Sammy was being, it was likely that his brother didn't care if he lived or died.

* * *

"Alright, I'm fine. I may be out of practice, but I'm still a good hunter. You can quit treating me like I'm 10, Dean. I know what I'm doing."

Sam quickly tried to steer the conversation away from the topic of suicide. He wasn't about to admit to Dean that he was hoping to be killed on a hunt so he wouldn't have to end it himself. At first he had been completely obsessed with revenge. He needed to find Jessica's killer. But then the depression and reality of the situation sunk in. Dad had been hunting this son-of-a-bitch for 20 years, with no luck. Maybe it just couldn't be caught. Maybe Sam's best move was to end it all, and hope that he met up with Jess in the afterlife. He wasn't sure what was waiting on the other side, but whatever it was had to be better than the Hell he was living in now. He couldn't take another day without her.

"I know you're a good hunter, Sammy. I'm just worried is all."

"I'm fine." Sam lied.

They drove to the pawn shop in silence, and waited outside until nightfall.

* * *

"Are you sure you can do this?" Dean asked again.

"Yes," Sam replied impatiently. "What are we waiting for?"

They picked the lock without trouble, and entered the darkened pawn shop. Sam shined his flashlight around, taking in the layout.

"Let's go find the mirrors."

They wandered through the shop, finding the mirrors near the back. Sam pulled out a copy of the Mary Worthington crime scene photo. "That's the mirror we're looking for." He gestured to a large, intricately decorated mirror. It was hard to miss.

Dean raised the crowbar. "Ready?"

Sam took a deep breath and spoke. "Bloody Mary...Bloody Mary...Bloody Mary."

The brothers looked around, seeing nothing.

Without warning, the air around them seemed to grow heavier. The temperature dropped rapidly, and they could see their breath.

"She's here."

Sam looked into the mirror, but was frozen. He couldn't move. His reflection took on a life of its' own, and he watched in morbid fascination as blood began to drip from his eyes.

 _"You killed her,"_ His reflection hissed. _"You knew all along..."_ It felt like Sam's chest was imploding. His eyes stung as the blood escaped his tear ducts.

" _And the nightmares? You had them for days before she even died, didn't you?"_ The Sam in the mirror accused. " _You knew what was going to happen, and you left her alone anyway! You stupid, stupid boy."_

 ***crash***

Sam's reflection was cut off as Dean's crowbar sliced through the air and smashed the mirror. Sam fell to the ground, and his brother cried out his name, dropping to his knees beside his brother.

"Sammy, are you all right?"

The weight had lifted from his chest, and his eyes no longer cried blood. Sam realized with disappointment that he was still alive.

"Yeah, I'm good." He lied.

"Good. Let's get out of here." Dean helped him to his feet, and they began to walk away.

But then they heard the sound of glass clinking. They turned to see a deformed figure crawling out of the mirror frame. They fell backwards, eyes running red with blood. They heard the creature hissing. Sam was ready to let death overcome him. What a better way to die, than next to his brother?

But his satisfaction was short lived as he heard an angry shriek. He looked over at Dean. The older Winchester was holding up a mirror to face the spirit. She saw her own reflection, and promptly shattered into a mess of broken glass. Dean threw the last remaining mirror into the pile of existing shards.

"Damn." Dean looked at the aisle of fragmented mirrors. "That's gotta be like 600 years of bad luck."

"No kidding." Sam discreetly slipped a shard of glass into his jacket pocket. Tonight he needed a little something extra to get his mind off Jess.

* * *

 **Kind of a short chapter, but hopefully I'll have time to write more tomorrow :) What do you think so far? Any suggestions?**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter could be kinda triggering for self-harmers. You have been warned.**

* * *

Back at the motel, Dean handed his younger brother a beer. "So, uh, what Mary said. Was it true?"

Sam couldn't look Dean in the eye. "Yeah." He replied quietly.

"So, what, now you're psychic?" Dean sat down next to him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to, Dean! Okay? And I'm not psychic."

Dean was quiet for a moment. He could sense that Sammy was hurting. "It's not your fault. This doesn't change anything. There was nothing you could have done."

"I left her alone. I lied to her. I should have told her the truth, should have stayed to protect her." Sam put his face in his hands, and Dean wished there was something he could say to make his little brother feel better.

"Sammy, if you wanna blame someone, blame the thing that did this to her. Or hell, blame me! I'm the one who showed up in the middle of the night and dragged you away from her."

"It wasn't your fault."

"And it wasn't yours either!"

"Whatever."

The conversation was clearly over.

* * *

Later that night, Sam lay in bed, waiting for Dean's breathing to slow in the rhythm of sleep. He heard his brother snore softly, and knew it was safe to indulge his addiction.

He quietly got out of bed and walked over to his jacket, retrieving the shard of glass. He locked himself in the bathroom and stared at his face in the mirror. He looked like hell. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Sam studied the piece of glass, admiring its sharp edges. Usually he used one of their hunting knives, but this was something new. He rolled up his sweater sleeves, and pressed the sharp object into his forearm. it quickly drew blood. Nice, it was sharper than he expected.

He dragged it down, adding a fresh cut to the many others that covered his arms. He bit his lip against the pain, getting a sick sense of relief out of the habit. _Again. Deeper._ It was as if he could still hear Bloody Mary's voice. _You killed her. You deserve to suffer._

A sharp knock at the door startled him, and the glass slipped, embedding itself deep inside his wrist. " _Dammit,"_ He said under his breath. He yanked the piece of glass out of his arm and threw it in the trash, burying it under a wad of toilet paper. He grabbed a towel and put pressure on the wound.

"You alright in there, Sammy?" He heard Dean's sleepy voice on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." _Shit._ The blood had soaked through the towel. He'd nicked a vein. He ran the wound under cold water, still applying pressure. He was gonna need stitches...but Dean couldn't know.

Sam felt dizzy. This was bad.

A few minutes later, Dean knocked on the door again, sounding more alert. "Sam, you're not doing drugs in there, are you?"

"You know me, just shooting up some heroin." He joked, but he could hear the panic in his own voice.

There was a pause. "Seriously?"

"No! Geez, I was kidding."

"You've been in there a long time."

Sam's vision was getting blurry, and he was starting to see black around the edges. _No, no..._ He couldn't pass out now. He fell back against the wall, sliding down.

"Sammy?" He could hear the worry in his brother's voice.

* * *

Dean heard a muffled thump. That was it. Something wasn't right. He kicked the door in, and stood frozen in shock at the scene that lay before him.

There was blood everywhere. In the sink, on the counter, on the floor...pooling in a puddle around Sammy's wrist. His brother sat motionless, slumped against the wall. Dean felt sick as he saw the dozens of scars and newer cuts that covered his arms. He dropped to his knees beside Sam.

"No, no, Sammy, wake up!" Dean leaned on the wound, putting as much pressure on it as he could without hurting Sam even more.

The younger Winchester groaned and his eyelids fluttered.

"Sammy, what the hell did you do..." He reached for his phone. "We've gotta call an ambulance."

"No," Sam reached out and seized Dean's wrist. "You can't...they'll recognize us...you'll go to jail."

"I'd rather be in jail than watch you die."

"Please...not that bad...you can...stitch me up," Sam said, struggling to stay awake. "Please," He begged.

"Fine, but if you pass out again, I'm calling 9-1-1."

Dean helped Sam to his feet, and basically dragged him to the bed. He held Sam's wrist above his heart, and ripped a pillowcase with his teeth, creating a makeshift tourniquet. "Keep this elevated. I'm gonna go get the first aid kit."

Sam stayed quiet while Dean patched him up. He hated seeing his little brother in pain like this. His breathing was shallow, eyes were squeezed shut, and his jaw was set against the pain. Dean could tell he was trying not to make a sound. "Sammy, why?" He asked, trying not to yell.

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

"Like Hell it doesn't! I just found you half-dead on the bathroom floor. What kind of stupid stunt were you trying to pull?"

"It was an accident."

"Yeah, and all those other cuts, those accidents too?"

Sam was quiet.

"Look, man, I'm just trying to understand here."

* * *

Sam felt horrible. He could see the fear in Dean's eyes. All they had was each other. Dad was gone. Dean needed him.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit." Dean sniffed, and angrily wiped tears from his eyes. Was he crying? Dean hated showing weakness.

"Hey," Sam put his hand on Dean's arm. "I swear I didn't mean to cut this deep."

"Why are you cutting yourself in the first place? You know how insane that sounds, don't you? They lock people up for shit like this."

"I just...I need it. You drink, I cut. It's how I cope."

"Well you need to find something less...destructive. You're killing yourself."

"I need to suffer," Sam whispered.

"What the actual Hell, Sammy?" Dean's voice was rising. "No you don't! For the last time, Jessica dying was not your fault. Do you think she'd want this for you?"

Sam looked at his brother. Dean was visibly upset, but he was right. Jess wouldn't want him to keep punishing himself...

"Dean, it's okay...I'll try to stop, okay?"

"Try?"

"It's kind of...It's kind of an addiction." He looked down, ashamed.

"How do you become addicted to slicing your own skin open?" Dean asked incredulously. "Whatever, it doesn't matter...just...try to stop." He shook his head. "What can I do to help?"

"I don't know..."

* * *

Dean hated feeling so helpless. He wanted to fix Sam. He didn't know what to do. If only Dad were here...

Dean looked over at Sammy, sleeping fitfully. He dialed their father's number, but it went straight to voicemail again. "Dad, I don't know if you're even alive. But if you are, we really need you. Sammy..." He swallowed hard. It hurt to even say. "Sammy's hurting real bad. I think he's trying to kill himself." Dean stifled a sob. "Dad, I don't know what to do. Please come find us." He left their location and room number and hung up.

Dean knew his father likely wouldn't even check his messages. But he had to try.

* * *

 **Kind of an intense chapter. I had fun writing it. So what do you think, should John show up? (And Ruby, I think baby-proofing the motel room is a great Idea. I love it. The next chapter will definitely include that.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I admit, I used some quotes from the Lethal Weapon movie. Deal with it.**

* * *

Sam woke up and his head was pounding. He sat up, immediately feeling a sharp pain is his wrist. He gasped sharply.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Dean said from across the room.

"What time is it?" Sam groaned.

"Almost noon. You had me worried. How you feeling?"

"Great." He replied sarcastically.

"Awesome, cause you look terrible."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam swung his legs over the bed and was overcome by a sudden bout of dizziness.

"Woah, easy there tiger." Dean put an arm around his brother and helped him to the table. "You lost a lot of blood last night."

"I'm fine."

"Would you quit saying that? You're obviously not,"

"Whatever." Sam reached for his duffel bag. "I'm gonna get dressed."

Dean squinted suspiciously.

"Come on, man. You can't babysit me all day."

Once in the bathroom, Sam noticed something odd. All his weapons had been removed from the bag. Not just his knives, but the guns too. He sighed. Dean really didn't trust him.

* * *

Dean hadn't slept at all. He couldn't. His mind was racing, and he couldn't get the image of Sam bleeding on the floor out of his head. He was supposed to take care of his brother. He'd failed.

Sam emerged from the bathroom. "So, where's all my stuff?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean claimed innocently.

"That's BS. All my knives are gone. And my guns. I can understand the knives, but seriously, my guns too?"

Dean shrugged.

"I'm not gonna kill myself."

"Oh, really? Cause I'm not sure, after last night."

* * *

"Well what do you wanna hear, man? Do you wanna hear that sometimes I think about eating a bullet? Huh? Well, I do! I even got a special bullet for the occasion with a hollow point. Make sure it blows the back of my goddamned head out and do the job right! Every single day I wake up and I think of a reason not to do it! Every single day!" Sam exploded. He immediately regretted it, seeing the heartbroken look on Dean's face.

"I'm sorry, Sammy..."

"No, I'm sorry." Sam mumbled. "I'm just on edge. I'll be okay." He moved toward the door. "I'm gonna go for a walk."

Dean jumped up. "No, you damn near cut your hand off last night. You're in no shape to be walking around. If you need some alone time, I get it. I'll go." He walked over to the exit. "Just please don't do anything stupid."

"I won't."

As soon as Dean left, Sam collapsed onto the bed. This was awful. He hated what he'd done to his brother. He was such a moron. Dean had been through enough. He shouldn't have been so careless. Dean never should have found out.

Despite his promise, he began looking around for something to hurt himself with. Dean had removed every sharp object in the stupid place. Suddenly he remembered the glass he'd thrown away. Going into the bathroom, he carefully removed the toilet paper covering the broken glass in the trash can. It was still there, thank God. It was still stained with Sam's blood, although Dean had done a pretty good job of scrubbing the rest of it off the floor and sink.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam said to himself as he drew the shard across his arm, being more careful this time.

* * *

Dean walked around the motel, checking his phone for the hundredth time. No messages from their dad. He swore under his breath. "Where are you, Dad?" He couldn't do this alone. He didn't know what to do.

 _Bobby._

Bobby would know. The man was like a second father to them. Dean dialed his number, and the older man picked up after the second ring. "Hello?"

"Bobby, it's Dean."

"Good to hear from you, boy. It's been a while. Are you any closer to finding John?"

"No, but I need some help." Dean's voice broke, and he hated himself for allowing his feelings to show through.

There was a pause, and Bobby's concern was evident. "What's going on?"

"It's Sam. He...I found him...he's..." It was like he couldn't get the words out.

"What's happened? Is he okay?"

"Not really..." Dean said shakily. "Last night I walked in on him carving himself up."

He heard a sharp intake of breath on the line. "Dammit. How bad is he?"

"Physically he'll heal. But I don't know what to do. I've never seen him like this, Bobby."

"You boys should drive here, stay with me a while. You shouldn't have to deal with this on your own."

Dean felt a little weight lift from his shoulders. He knew he could count on Bobby. "Thanks. Give me a ghost, demon...I can handle them any day. But this? It's awful. I don't know what to do."

"It's okay, son. Bring him here, I'll try to talk some sense into the idjit."

* * *

Back in the motel room, Sam placed the broken glass back into the trash can, covering it with another layer of TP. He walked out just as Dean came back into the room. His brother eyed his suspiciously. "You all right?"

"Yeah,"

Dean didn't seem convinced, but he let it go. "Alright, pack your stuff. We're leaving."

"Where to?"

"Sioux Falls," Dean replied.

"We're going to see Bobby?" Sam asked warily.

"Yeah, he might have a lead on Dad. If we haul ass, we'll probably get there tonight."

"Sounds good." Sam shifted his eyes toward the bathroom. He had to find a way to get smuggle the glass into his bag without Dean noticing.

* * *

 **Alright, kinda having some writer's block here. Any ideas on what should come next? Or what should happen when they get to Bobby's?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Trigger warning, graphic depictions of Self-harm**

* * *

Bobby paced back and forth in his study, wracking his brain for something to say to Sam. He hadn't seen the boy in almost two years, since he'd left for Stanford. He couldn't believe John's youngest son would do something like this.

He heard the familiar sound of the Impala pulling up to his home. Within minutes, both Winchester boys were standing in Bobby's front entryway.

"It's good to see you two." Bobby hugged Dean first, then paused in front of Sam. He would never get over how tall the kid was. He'd shot up after he turned 12, surpassing both his father and brother. "Sam," Bobby gently cuffed him upside the head. "Ya idjit, come here." He gave Sam a tight squeeze, surprised at how skinny he was.

"Damn, son. Are you eating at all?"

* * *

Dean glanced at his brother. He hadn't notice until now, but Sam's lean build seemed more thin and lanky than usual.

"Yeah, you know me. High metabolism."

Well that was a lie. Dean and Bobby exchanged a concerned glance, but left it alone.

"Here, let's get your bags in the spare room," Bobby lead them through the house and into a room that held many fond memories for the brothers. When John was away on long hunting trips, he would leave them with Bobby. They stayed in this room, and it became the closest thing they had to a home besides the Impala.

"So what do you have on Dad?" Sam asked Bobby.

"Uhh," Dean started to speak, realizing that he hadn't told Bobby that Sam thought the reason they were here was because Bobby supposedly had a lead on John.

Bobby shot a subtle glare at the eldest Winchester. "We can talk about it later. Sam, you get settled in. I need to talk to your brother."

Sam looked at them suspiciously, but didn't argue.

* * *

"You didn't tell him."

"What was I supposed to say? That we're staging an intervention?" Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Bobby sighed. "I don't know, but if you keep hidin' things from each other it's not gonna help."

"I don't know what to do, Bobby," Dean ran a hand through his hair, and Bobby could see how distraught he was. Poor kids had been through enough, now this? They didn't deserve any of the shit happening to them.

"It's okay, we'll figure something out, boy."

* * *

"I know what this is really about, Dean. I'm not stupid."

It was later that night and the brothers were lounging in Bobby's living room, watching TV and enjoying a couple beers.

Dean shrugged. "Well? What am I supposed to do, Sam? Ignore it? Pretend like it never happened?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I want you to do." Sam set his beer down and faced Dean. "Look, it's not hurting anything. It's just how I cope. It's not affecting my ability to hunt, so what do you care?"

A flash of anger crossed Dean's face, and he struggled to keep his composure. "What do I care? Sammy, you're my brother. I don't want you to be hurt." He scowled. "And besides, I think it is affecting your ability to hunt. You're not at your best if you're injured. You cut really deep. Lost a lot of blood. You're gonna get both of us killed out there."

"I didn't mean to cut that deep, you startled me."

"So now it's my fault? Wow." Dean abruptly stood and stormed out of the room, just as Bobby came in, holding another beer.

* * *

The older man watched in concern. Dean was frustrated and scared, and Sam was depressed and in pain. He wished there was something he could do, but he'd never dealt with this before either. When John lost Mary, he had been depressed as well. But his friend turned the pain into anger and focused it on revenge. He didn't understand why Sam would turn the rage inward at himself.

Bobby sank into the couch next to Sam, who was staring blankly at the TV. "He's just worried, you gotta understand that."

"I know." Sam said softly.

"He's been lookin' out for you since you was kids. This scares him cause there's no monster to save you from, nothin' he can do."

"I don't know what to do, Bobby." Sam dejectedly put his head in his hands. "Dad's gone, he might be dead for all we know."

"I think he's still alive. You'd know if he was dead, he'd turn up someplace. Besides, it takes a lot to kill your old man."

* * *

"Dad," Dean had called John's phone again, not surprised when it went straight to voicemail. "Please, we're at Bobby's place." He took a shuddering breath. "I need you, Dad." He hung up, and resisted the urge to throw the phone at the wall. What the hell was he supposed to do? How could Dad just abandon them like this?

"Dean,"

He jumped as he heard Sam's voice. "Geez, you trying to give me a heart attack? I didn't even hear you come in,"

"Sorry," Sam looked anxious.

"What is it?"

"I didn't mean to imply that it was your fault-"

"Sam, stop. It's okay. I know." Dean awkwardly looked at his feet. "I'm sorry too."

* * *

John Winchester sat in a dingy motel room, studying his notes taped all over the walls. He was getting closer to finding the son-of-a-bitch that killed Mary. But he'd hit a dead end. The trail just went cold. He sighed and looked at his phone, blinking blue. He had another message.

 _"Dad, please, we're at Bobby's place. I need you, Dad."_

He felt terrible. His boys needed him and he wasn't there. He had been heartbroken to hear that Sam had turned to self-injury. He couldn't believe it. But surely he wasn't suicidal. The boys would take care of each other, like they always had. They didn't need him.

* * *

Sam stood in front of the bathroom mirror. It was the middle of the night, and Bobby and Dean were sleeping. He tiredly ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He looked so pathetic. He was so pathetic.

Dean had put everything on hold to deal with his little breakdown. They'd stopped hunting, stopped looking for Dad. His brother would be better off without him.

Sam clutched the broken piece of glass in his hand, gripping it tightly until the sharp edges cut into his palm and drew blood. He held his hand over the sink, watching with sick pleasure as his crimson blood dripped onto the white marble countertop.

He was so messed up.

This needed to end.

* * *

 **The next chapter is gonna be intense. *evil laugh***


	5. Chapter 5

John awoke to his phone buzzing. He checked the time and saw that it was a little past 3 AM. Who would be calling him at this hour? He groggily reached over and checked the caller ID. Sam. He wanted so bad to answer it, but he knew he wouldn't know what to say. So he let it go to voicemail.

" _Dad, it's Sam."_ His son sounded like he was crying... " _I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left you and Dean, and I'm sorry I'm leaving you again. I'm sorry I wasn't the son you wanted. I love you, Dad. Please forgive me for what I'm about to do."_

John felt sick. No. This couldn't be happening. With shaking hands, he dialed Dean's number. " _Come on, pick up, pick up..."_

"Hello?" A sleepy voice answered.

"Dean,"

There was a shocked silence for a moment. "Dad?" He sounded much more awake now. "Where are you?"

"There's no time to talk. Go find your brother."

He could hear Dean getting out of bed. "Why, what's going on?"

"He left me a message, I think...I think he's gonna kill himself."

"Shit!" Dean swore. "His bed is empty. I'll call you back. And you damn well better answer."

 ** _*click*_**

* * *

Dean hung up and ran to the bathroom, pounding on the door. "Sam! Sammy!"

"Go away, Dean," He heard muffled sobbing from the other side. At least his brother was still alive.

"What the hell is goin' on?" Bobby had heard the ruckus and wandered down the hall.

"Sammy is trying to die," Dean said, panicking. He kicked the door open, and felt sick as he saw his brother lying lifeless on the floor, surrounded by blood.

 _"No, no..."_


	6. Chapter 6

Bobby and Dean rushed to Sam's side. "No, dammit Sammy!" Dean felt for a pulse. "He's still alive."

 _There was so much blood..._ His younger brother's wrists were carved open all the way to his elbows. "Call an ambulance, Bobby," Dean sobbed. He put pressure on the wounds.

"Hang on, Sammy..."

* * *

As soon as Dean hung up to go find Sam, John had thrown his things in a duffel bag and jumped in his truck, headed straight to Bobby's house. He didn't care that it was the middle of the night. He didn't care that he was speeding. He needed to get there, needed to see his boys. This was all his fault...

An hour later, his phone rang. He answered it immediately. "Dean?"

"Dad," His son was clearly upset.

"Is he alright? What happened?"

"It's real bad. I don't know if he's gonna make it, Dad..." Dean's voice cracked. "He's in surgery right now."

John punched the steering wheel. "Damn it! I'm on my way."

* * *

*an hour later*

"Mr. Winchester?" It took Dean a moment to realize the doctor was talking to him. Mr. Winchester was his dad.

"Yeah, Doc. How is he?" He asked nervously.

"You're lucky you got him here so fast. He lost a lot of blood. We gave him a transfusion and we were able to repair the damage, he shouldn't have any lasting impairment."

"Thank God," Bobby breathed.

"We'll be keeping him here for a while. Suicide attempts require at least 48 hour observation. We suggest that you admit him to the psychiatric ward. I think he could benefit from therapy."

"Thanks Doc." Dean shook the doctor's hand. _Suicide. Psychiatric ward. Therapy._ It was all too much. He didn't know what to do. He didn't think normal therapy would help his brother. This wasn't exactly a normal situation. "Can we see him?"

"He's still under anesthesia, but I'll take you to his room."

* * *

Sam became aware of muffled voices and beeping. He could smell the recognizable antiseptic scent. He was in a hospital. _Dammit._ He was still alive. He struggled to open his eyes, and blinked against the harsh light. Along with the awareness of his surroundings came the awful burning sensations in his arms. He groaned.

"He's awake,"

Sam heard his brother's voice, sounding relieved.

"I'm right here, Sammy,"

Sam's blurry vision cleared and he saw Dean and Bobby standing above him, looking disheveled and worried.

He tried to move his arms, but they wouldn't budge. He glanced at them and saw that he was secured to the bed with restraints. Seriously?

"How ya feelin'?" Bobby asked

Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat was so dry. "Fine," He finally managed to croak. "Water?"

"Right, sorry." Dean reached over and grabbed a cup of water, guiding the straw into Sam's mouth.

He was surprised at how much energy it took to simply suck water out of a straw. He felt awful.

"Dean,"

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean touched his hand in a comforting gesture that was uncharacteristic of his tough, "no chick-flick moments" brother.

"I'm sorry." Sam couldn't even look him in the eye.

Dean looked like he was about to cry again, his red-rimmed eyes giving it away. "S'okay little brother." He coughed and cleared his throat. "But if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I will put you back in the hospital myself."

Sam laughed weakly.

 ***cough***

They all turned to look, and Sam was shocked to see his father standing in the doorway.

"Dad?"

* * *

The whole drive, John had been imagining what this moment would be like. But nothing prepared him for seeing his son strapped down to a hospital bed with thick bandages covering his arms from wrist to elbow.

"Dad?" Sam looked stunned.

John tried to smile, but his lips just twitched. He approached the bed. He struggled to find words, but nothing sounded right. "Why?" He whispered, a tear escaping his eye and rolling down his cheek. He quickly brushed it away. He couldn't show weakness now. Not when his boys needed him the most.

Sam looked ashamed. "I don't know," He replied softly. "I'm sorry,"

* * *

That was a lie. There were so many reasons why, he just didn't feel like explaining it. He was so tired...

As he drifted back into unconsciousness, he realized that this was the first time he'd ever seen his father cry.

* * *

Dean looked scared. "Is he okay? Is that normal?" He looked to Bobby for answers.

"Yeah, he's fine. Boy's been through a lot. Let him sleep." Bobby glanced at John. "Dean, stay with your brother. I need a word with your dad."

Dean looked curious, but didn't ask.

Out in the hallway, Bobby resisted the urge to punch John Winchester square in the jaw. "Where the Hell have you been?"

"I'm so close to finding it, Bobby. The thing that killed Mary. It's a demon." John explained.

"And you couldn't bother to tell your boys about it?"

"It's too dangerous, I didn't want them getting hurt."

"Oh, you didn't? Well that turned out so well." Bobby's voice was rising.

John had the decency to look ashamed. "I didn't know he would do this. I didn't know he was hurting this bad."

"Bullshit! The kid lost the love of his life, you should know how that feels. You just didn't see it cause you weren't here!" Bobby was frustrated and angry. "It took one of your boys nearly killing himself to get you here."

"I'm not leaving them again."

"Good."

* * *

Dean could hear them arguing in the hall. He was glad Sam was out cold. Poor kid didn't need to hear it. He'd been through enough.

Dean stared at his little brother, feeling utterly helpless. It was his job to protect Sammy. It always had been. He felt like a failure as he studied his brother's thin frame, looking even smaller in the hospital bed.

He should have done something to prevent this.

John and Bobby walked back into the hospital room. Without speaking, John drew Dean into a hug. His son was surprised, and tensed at the unfamiliar touch. But he quickly relaxed into it, and the two men clung to each other for a moment.

"Are you okay?" John pulled away, and looked into Dean's eyes.

"Yes, sir." Dean answered too quickly, and averted his gaze.

"I'm asking you for the truth, son."

His father's searching eyes seemed to read his mind. Dean's thoughts were swirling. He was not okay. But he didn't know what to say. He shrugged. "No, not really."

John nodded. "Me neither. But we'll get through this. As a family."

Dean blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not leaving you again. We're gonna fight this battle together."

For the first time in a long time, Dean felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Maybe things would be okay.


End file.
